Dreams are real

“People think dreams aren’t real just because they aren’t made of matter, of particles. Dreams are real. But they are made of viewpoints, of images, of memories and puns and lost hopes.” – Neil Gaiman
There are two types of people in the world: the realists and the idealists. Some realists even go as far as to call themselves cynics. I’d just say they’re idealists who once upon a time got their hearts broken.
What I’m really trying to say is this: we’re all dreamers. We all spend an awful lot of time in a strange land, one that does not exist. A promised land, one we promised ourselves when the world outside our windows seemed evil, threatening, ugly. Whenever we got our hearts broken, whenever someone forgot to keep their promise, whenever we got lied to, betrayed, or forgotten. We created that promised land with our imaginations and our hope and our love.
The land that belongs to a future where all our dreams will come true.
There’s only one problem with that. Most of us don’t act upon those dreams. They just pretend that it’s all a nice fairy tale, which of course makes them bitter and remorseful nonetheless, but they chose to believe that those dreams can never come true.
Yes, they don’t.
Because dreams rarely come true. People have to make them come true. Have to create the promised land, in reality, the same way they did inside their heads.
But that’s just easy to say and almost impossible to achieve.
Why?
Because inside your head things are always going to be beautiful, much more than they could ever be in the real world. Also, inside your head… no one can hurt you there. No one can reach inside and destroy the wonderful world you have created. The promise of a better future that keeps you going, that makes you get out of bed even when you don’t want to, that still puts a smile on your face when all you want to do is scream or cry or even die.
I find that to be sad.
Dreams are real. If they exist inside your mind… they’re not just the product of your imagination. If you imagined them, you can make them come true.
What we take for granted, day after day, didn’t use to exist a thousand years ago. Hell, most of the stuff we use on a day to day basis didn’t use to exist a hundred years ago.
The world changes because people’s dreams come true. Because will power is the only thing that stands between what’s real and what’s not. Between what’s possible and what’s not.
That’s all.
***
I’d like to thank Matthew and Amelia for their recent donations to my campaign.
If you’d like to help me with my medical bills, you can do so here. Any amount matters. It truly does, especially now, when the next appointment is tomorrow.
Once again, thank you all for your help,
Cristian

Real people

“It wasn’t only wickedness and scheming that made people unhappy, it was confusion and misunderstanding; above all, it was the failure to grasp the simple truth that other people are as real as you.” - Ian McEwan

They say the biggest distance between two people is misunderstanding. It creates this gap between people. Or is it a wall? And it’s frustrating, isn’t it? It does make you feel as if you’re alone, the only one who thinks and says and acts in a certain way.

And by feeling so don’t we diminish others as well? Don’t we fail to understand that even though they are different, they’re still inherently the same as us? And they deserve to be treated the same way we’d like to be treated.

I don’t know, it’s a difficult question to answer.

But could you hate someone if you knew why they do what they do? If you could truly understand them? Their thoughts? Their feelings? Know their past? Their struggles? What they want? What they have lost?

That’s the thing, I’m afraid. It’s not that we are incapable o caring about others, it’s just that we rarely get to know them. To really know them. And thus we never get to understand them. And the wall is still there…

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There are only 58 hours left. It’s now or never. If you can help out, please do so here. Any contribution helps, any amount matters.

Stories

stories“The Universe is made of stories, not of atoms.” – Muriel Rukeyser

Stories. The words that make up our past, the words we tell those strangers we’d like to become more to us. Stories. The words we tell those strangers we’ll never get to meet.

Stories. The plane on which reality and imagination collide, a place of endless possibilities. Continue reading

The Physical Impossibility of Death in the Mind of Someone Living

You’ve got to hand it to Hirst. He does come up with some really catchy titles for his… thingies. Britain’s richest living artist…

Whether we like it or not, we live in a post-modern world. But the question is, “What’s art?”

What is the definition of art? And who can define it? Does art have something to do with the means we use to express our beliefs? Is art about how or why? Or what?

Is it enough for the artist to call a dead shark “art” for it to be art?

 

Friday Review: Shadow of the Raven

8119-Tl3n8L._SL1500_Thunder claps roar and Odin’s ravens fly. Dragonships set sail – and the kingdoms of Western Europe hold their breath. Warriors of Thor are on the move.

By the mid ninth century, Danish raids on Anglo-Saxon kingdoms have escalated. Several bands even dare to overwinter on the coastal islands, particularly those at the mouth of the Thames, where the kingdoms of Wessex and Mercia border each other.

The kings of these lands must put past enmity aside and take the first steps towards unity; steps they see as vital in the face of this newfound threat to their lands . . . Continue reading

What doesn’t kill you…

Either makes you stronger or makes you wish it did.

Letting go or holding on. Two of our most defining reactions. And they couldn’t be more different.

Holding on to pain(or the memory of it), holding on to regret, to bitterness… Continue reading

vertigo: a novel

vertigoEverything was beautiful, and nothing hurt.Kurt Vonnegut

 

There are certain memories that stick with us for no apparent reason, whose influence we never understand.

For instance, one of my most persistent memories from childhood consists of me sitting in my father’s car, waiting for him and my mother to come back from a shop. It was raining, and all I did was watch this beautiful anomaly of nature; raindrops trickling down the windshield, layers upon layers, drops blending together to form rivulets, like tears running down cheeks. And I thought God wanted to drown the entire world, to cover everything in a deep sea of rain. For a few minutes my life was empty and pointless, and yet time didn’t stop. People were running down sidewalks, struggling to hold onto their umbrellas in the blistering wind, cars were passing by, and the rain kept falling, oblivious and impervious to everything and everyone. Continue reading